Chapter 8 Scarlett
EIGHT
SCARLETT
A client just gave me an orgasm.
I just came for the first time during sex.
A client just gave me my first orgasm.
I can’t seem to catch my breath during the time it takes me to ride the elevator down, walk across the hotel lobby, and hail a taxi. My chest is still heaving and my pulse is still spiked when I finally slide onto the leather back seat.
What. Just. Happened.
That entire appointment was out of the ordinary. How did I let this whole night get so out of control?
Typically, a first-time appointment includes a feeling-out process, me squashing the awkwardness by coming onto him physically, me figuring out what it is he wants sexually, and then him having the time of his life while I put on a poker face and pretend to have the time of my life.
All the while, I’m either adding to my mental grocery list to pass the time or thinking about my high school gym teacher to stay wet.
At no point have I ever been invested during sex with a client.
Until Nico.
The second he put his hands on me, I couldn’t take my focus off of him. The hotel could’ve shaken with an earthquake and I still would’ve been lost in the haze of Nico’s touch.
I tried to put distance between us. I almost came when it was only his fingers inside of me. I thought redirecting his attention would make the orgasm go away, but it seems I underestimated him. Because that man still got me to finish.
When my phone buzzes with a text, I pull it from my purse with shaky hands.
Amara.
Amara: Everything good? You normally check in as soon as you leave.
I press my fingers to my temples with a wince. I’ve been lost in my head for—
The taxi stops. We’ve reached my apartment building.
Damn. More than twenty minutes.
I slide the driver a hundred and quickly type out a response to Amara as he counts the change.
Scarlett: Fine. Just needed a minute to recoup. I’m home now. Everything’s fine.
By the time I’m in the comfort of my apartment, there’s a string of texts waiting.
Amara: Okay good. I was worried for you, cara.
Amara: I’d like to hear what you thought of him.
Amara: Can you come by the gallery tomorrow?
The headache that started in the car begins to pound. I don’t usually mind my weekly trips to Amara’s art gallery, but it’s been a long week, and I still have an appointment with a client tomorrow night.
And on top of that, I don’t have a shot in hell at hiding what just happened from her. That woman can read me like a book.
Amara: We’ll make it quick, Scarlett. I’ll have The Palm Court cater an afternoon tea for us.
I sigh. In a way, she knows me too well; she knows my favorite cafe in the entire city, and she knows that I prefer it in private.
I type a response, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones with every letter.
Scarlett: Okay. I’ll be at the gallery at 1.
That night is the first night I don’t complete my fourteen-step nighttime skincare routine. I simply drop onto my bed and fall into a dreamless sleep.
I’m awake far too early the next morning. Too afraid to close my eyes again because Nico appears every time I do.
Throwing the sheets off my sweaty body, I decide I’m going to run my stress and confusion into the ground. Grabbing my sneakers, I don’t even bother dressing out of my sleep shorts and tank before I lace them up and pull my fold-up treadmill out of the living room closet.
An hour later, I’m heading into mile seven, two more than is typical for me, drenched through my clothes.
Maybe if I feel skinnier, I’ll feel more in control.
By the time my legs turn to jelly and I have to pull the emergency break after stumbling for a second time, there’s a dull ringing in my ears that’s loud enough to drown out the majority of my thoughts.
I care less about my insane date last night than I did when I started, which I’ll count as a win.
I drag myself into the bathroom to run a warm bath. Sinking into the water with a whimper, it takes me less than a minute to doze off.
Three hours later, I take one last look in the mirror before leaving my apartment.
Despite the chaotic start to my morning, I’m still dressed to the nines, same way I always am when I leave my apartment.
I’m wearing a pretty summer dress, my hair is blown out, and my makeup is perfectly done.
I’m ready to face the world, red lips and all.
It’s a half-hour drive to Amara’s office.
The art gallery is real, as is Amara’s love of expensive paintings, but the business was opened specifically with the intent of laundering money for the illegal side of the agency.
Since beauty is in the eye of the beholder, no one bats an eye if a painting is bought for what some might deem “too much” money.
Amara’s assistant is on the phone when I walk into the gallery, but I’m assuming she was told of my appointment because she waves me in. I find Amara standing in the center of the art space, staring at one of her most prized paintings.
To this day, she’s the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s tall, taller than me, wearing a dark-green dress that perfectly complements her olive skin tone.
Her brown hair is twisted into a coiffure and her makeup is so perfect, she looks like a real-life filter.
No one would ever guess she’s in her forties.
Or that she runs the most successful escort agency in New York.
“Pemberly still trying to buy it off you?” I ask as I stop beside her.
She sighs. “Yes. The man doesn’t know how to give up.”
I take in the gorgeous painting in front of me. I don’t know much about art, but even I can tell this one is an artist’s crowning achievement. “Can’t really blame him.”
Amara doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns to me and asks simply, “How was last night?”
I can’t bring myself to look at her. “Are you asking because of me or the client?”
“You know you come first, mia cara,” she says sweetly, touching my hand.
I let out an unfeeling hum.
I don’t know the answer to her question, so instead, I focus on the easy part and hand over the bag I’m carrying. Fifteen percent of my bookings, all cash, no trace. Amara sighs as she takes it.
“He was nice,” I answer simply. “Clearly hadn’t done it before, was a little unsure in the beginning, but ultimately just wanted a vanilla date.” I don’t mention that vanilla date was the most mind-blowing experience of my life. “He was a solid referral.”
When Amara doesn’t react right away, I finally turn toward her with a frown. She looks lost in thought.
“Why?” I ask. “Is there something I should know?”
Her gaze jerks toward me in surprise. “What? Oh, no. Not about him. It’s the guy who referred him who I’m having an issue with, so I wanted to make sure I cut out the entirety of the rot. That’s all.”
“Hm. Well, whoever that guy was, I can’t see how it would extend to Nico. The guy’s a nice guy, through and through.”
Amara tilts her head. “Nico?”
I look away to cover my blush. I usually call clients by their last name; it helps make them feel like a nobody. “He’s young. It feels odd calling him Mr. Price.”
“He’s not that young,” Amara says with a chuckle. “It’s one of the reasons he called us.”
Part of me is bursting at the seams to ask her more about that. She probably got more information about Nico during her background check than I did during our date, so she’s going to be my best shot at learning more about him.
But…I can’t. I can’t make Amara think Nico was a unique client. And I can’t care.
“He spoke very highly of you,” Amara says casually.
My head snaps toward her before I can control the impulse. “You called him? It’s barely been twelve hours!”
She gives me a knowing smile. “I didn’t call him, Scarlett.”
My eyes widen. Nico called already? What did he—?
He called for a second date.
I turn my gaze forward, back to the painting in front of me. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He did allude to future dates a few times. I just wasn’t sure if he’d snap back to reality after I left and realize he was flirting with an escort.
I can’t tell if I’m relieved it didn’t happen or bummed that it hasn’t happened yet.
“Are you okay with seeing him again?” Amara interrupts my thoughts.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I answer in a flat tone. If only I could adopt this emotionless shell around Nico.
“He asked for this Thursday. I know you typically put a week or two between clients, but since he’s a new client, I thought you might want to hook him early.” Her mouth twitches with a smirk. “Although it sounds like you’ve already done that.”
I shouldn’t say yes. I shouldn’t feed into her suspicion, shouldn’t encourage Nico.
“Thursday’s fine.”
Amara nods. “Very well. Should I put him before or after your appointment with Mr. Harris?”
“Give Harris to one of the other girls. It doesn’t matter who’s bent over in front of him. He just wants someone to tell him his cock is small.”
Maybe I’ll regret handing off one of my “easy” clients, but I can’t find it in me to care.
I can feel the way Amara’s studying me. Any other madam would probably scold me for thinning my roster instead of filling it, but not Amara. Not with me.
“If you need a break, cara, just say the word,” she says gently. “I can cancel your clients, put you on a plane to an island, let you relax—”
A loud laugh bursts out of me. The idea of a vacation solving my problems is absurd.
My reaction only seems to worry Amara more. When the guilt starts to seep in, I let out a tired exhale and assure her. “I’m fine. Really. Just a little burnt out.” I hesitate, then add, “Maybe a vacation at the end of the year wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Seemingly pleased that I’ve at least taken her question seriously, she nods. “You tell me when, and I’ll put it on our calendar.”
I try for a smile, but I think I’m too drained. “Just schedule Nico for Thursday,” is what I say instead.
I’m too busy mentally calculating if three days is enough to compose myself for another date.